Trials
by mickeyrose3
Summary: When the witch trials come to Salem, Johnathan Hathorne is torn between duty to his family and his conscience. Will cover the events in a Break with Charity.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Everything but what history is in the public domain belongs to Ann Rinaldi, a brilliant young adult historical fiction novelist whom I respect, and, therefore, would not wish to steal from.

Author's Note: I've never written a first person story and this is only my second fanfiction, so please don't be harsh when you comment. Also, I did some research to try to get the names and everything to fit the time period, but I'm not a historian, so if you spot something that you think is inaccurate please bring it up nicely and I will fix it when I get around to it. Thanks in advance for your consideration.

Chapter I

My family was at meat when my sister, Honora, who was one year my senior, deigned to arrive home from her heavily-chaperoned by servants walk with John Williams, the son of a well-to-do merchant. The hems of her skirts were soaked from the hostile weather outside, and stray snowflakes dotted her dark hair like powdered sugar. Powdered sugar. There was a luxury that my father, like most devout Puritans, tended to frown upon, just as they did on frivolities such as lace or brightly colored fabrics.

Speaking of my father, he was fixing my elder sister with his most stern magistrate glower. "You're late," he reprimanded her.

"Sorry, Father." Honora bowed her head in contrition.

"You're also wet," Mother contributed, her scolding milder. "You'll take a cold, Honora."

"I'm dreadfully sorry, Mother, but I'm sure that I'll be fine." Honora knew what I did: it was best to soothe Mother before she could work herself up into a frenzy, or else she would scold until the Second Coming of Christ.

Father cut in once more. "You missed prayers, daughter. Therefore, I expect you to say twice your usual amount before you retire. Furthermore, you are know that supper in this household is always served promptly at seven, and you will arrive punctually along with everyone else or do without the meal next time."

"Yes, Father," Honora muttered, her eyes lowered and the perfect portrait of the compliant child so idealized in Salem.

"Go up to your bedchamber and change out of those sopping clothes then before you catch your death cold." Father waved his hand in dismissal. "When you've finished that, you may join us."

Silence engulfed the table again as my older sister hastened upstairs to change into suitable attire. My five younger siblings, Anne, Grace, Faith, Joseph, and Thomas were not permitted to speak at meals unless they were addressed, just as Honora and I had been forbidden to speak when we were younger. When I was their age, my tongue had itched to speak, but now I had nothing to say, and neither did my parents. Perhaps as one aged one lost the desire to speak.

However, when Honora rejoined us, I could not resist the opportunity to make her blush, as sinful as that sounded.

"Where have you been, sister?" I asked, although I already knew the answer as did everyone else at the table, as she slipped quietly into her chair across from mine. "Here I've been working all day while you've been making cow eyes at John Williams while walking about Salem Town with him. You sly fox, getting all the sport."

"You're notion of work is probably studying up for Harvard, no doubt," retorted Honora, accepting the platter of food offered to her by an indentured servant girl, who left as soon as my sister relieved her of her burden. "Well, you might have spent more time dreaming about darling Susanna English than studying. Speaking of Susanna English, she's a fine young lady. When are you going to call upon her again, brother?"

"When I find the time." I shrugged, taking a sudden, unfathomable interest in my cutlery. The truth was that I was afraid to call upon Susanna again. I'd made several calls on her in the autumn, but whenever I sat with her in her parlor and tried to find something intelligent to say, I always found myself tongue-tied. For some reason, my mind tended to go as blank as a washed slate whenever I was near her, and when I did have thoughts they were the unchaste time no decent young man would mention in conversation. All in all, despite my best efforts, I always conducted myself like a village idiot in Susanna's presence, and, understandably, she had grown impatient with me and had done nothing to encourage me, thereby discouraging me.

"Poor Susanna," sighed Honora. "Her young man doesn't call on her like John Williams calls on me, and it's not any fault of her own. Her Johnathan's just too busy fretting about Harvard."

"I doubt that she thinks of me as her Johnathan at all, for your information, as I don't have the impression that she fancies me at all." Even though I was still bantering with Honora, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sorrow at the fact that Susanna did not reciprocate my feelings. In fact, I found that the meat on my plate was appearing downright unappetizing, when only seconds before, it had tasted delicious. Of course, that was utter folly, and I took another bite of meat. It was immoral to waste God's gracious bounty, after all.

Her eyes gleaming at me, Honora smiled. "Well, tomorrow, you're travelling to Boston with Father to hear cases for the General Court of Massachusetts," she reminded me, her tone far too innocent to conceal anything virtuous. "There are pretty girls aplenty in Boston, or so the scandalmongers have it. Happen one of them will catch your eye. Then you needn't bother with Susanna, who clearly wants none of your bumbling attentions."

I opened my mouth to offer a rejoinder, but at this point Father, who spent his days resolving disputes and despised hearing them in his home, had enough. "Stop bickering this instant, both of you," he admonished. "It is indecent and ungodly to quarrel at a family table. You two are worse than those in Salem Village with their petty squabbles about pigs and chickens. Johnathan, stop tormenting Honora about John Williams, for if I have no problem with him, then neither should you."

"Yes, Father," I answered, thoroughly chastened for my childishness. "I don't have any issue with John." This was no falsehood. I regarded John as a more than decent young man from a more than decent family. However, no brother could be expected to resist the temptation of mocking his older sister when she began courting someone, and I was a much a sinful son of Adam as anyone else.

Father's severe brown eyes focused on Honora now. "As for you,Honora, you will not taunt Johnathan about Susanna English. If he wants to call upon her, he shall find the time. If he doesn't, he will not do so. For the time being, I see no problem with him focusing on his studies, and you will do well not to involve yourself in the affairs of men of which you understand little."

"Yes, sir," Honora whispered, flushing, and the pair of us said nothing else all through the meal.

The next morning, as Honora had said, Father and I set off for Boston on horseback, eating muffins Mother had the kitchen hands prepare for us. For awhile, we rode in silence, then Father commented, "I want you to keep a sharp eye on the proceedings of the General Court, son. It is a chance for you to learn much, and I expect you to take advantage of it."

"Of course, sir." He need not concern himself with that. I have been begging him to take me with him to the General Court for years, but he had always refused, insisting that my lessons with my tutor, who had left me now that I was soon to be off to college, were more important, and I could guarantee that I would be watching as much of the proceedings as attentively as I could.

"There's no need to neglect the life of the mind just because your tutor has left," Father went on. "After all, you're off to Harvard in the spring, and you don't want to fall behind."

Did he not notice me spending almost all of my waking hours buried in my books, or was it some paternal obligation to lecture me on the importance of my studies even if I had not, to my knowledge, forgotten their significance? Whatever the answer, I never dared to discover it, for I dared not voice the question aloud.

In Salem, slanderous speech earns a body a public flogging, and, in the Hathorne household, insolence garnered you a taste of the rod. Although my father had not physically disciplined me for awhile now, and my tutor, before he had departed to fill the hollow head of some other lad, had not rapped my knuckles in the last year or two, it was best not to provoke God, Father, or any other authority figure with such thoughts, since they might see fit to humble you, probably through punishment.

With these sentiments in mind, I replied only, "Yes, Father. That's why I have been studying several hours a day."

Satisfied with this, my father allowed, "That is why I permitted you to accompany me. However, it never hurts to remind those whose young minds are most apt to lead them astray of their duties."

Ah, so it had been a reminder. I had gotten my answer without having to trouble myself with voicing the inquiry.

"I will heed your words as always." A thought crossed my mind. My father seemed to b e in an open mood, so perchance he was willing to engage in a conversation with me. Testing the waters as I generally did with him, I started hesitantly, "Father?"

"Yes, son." He nodded to indicate that I should continue.

"I have been thinking." Not sure how to phrase what was plaguing me, I halted.

"Always a bad sign. What, pray tell, have you been thinking about, lad?"

"Susanna." One word. I hoped it was enough. It was more than enough for me. In fact, it was incredible how much power over me that one word wielded. It was as though I were a poppet doll in her control, but I knew Susanna was no witch, even if I Was enchanted by her.

"Susanna English, I presume?" A ghost of a grin appeared on Father's face.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, as Honora has suggested, call upon her," my father advised gently.

"I don't think she fancies me, Father," I confessed, my cheeks probably the color of Bridget Bishop's crimson bodice that had landed her in so much trouble. "When I'm around her, I'm horribly tongue-tied."

"The more you call upon her, the more at ease you shall become in her presence. At the present, you cannot fault her if she is cold with you. Mayhap she has interpreted your lack of pursuit as a sign that you are no longer interested in her. At any rate, you have neglected to call upon her, and she can hardly be expected to keep waiting for you, boy. It has been over a fortnight since you have called upon her." A thoughtful note entered his tone. "I do not believe that her parents will object to you calling upon her. You and Susanna are from the same class, after all."

"I'll call upon her upon our return from Boston," I promised, my stomach flipping in a peculiar combination of fear and excitement.

"Don't spend all your time with Miss English, or you'll end up neglecting your studies, Johnathan, and then I will be most displeased with you," warned Farther.

"I won't forget about my studies, Father."

After that, there was nothing more to say to each other, and quiet lapsed between us again.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Again, my research indicates that I am being accurate in how I depict the taverns and stuff, but if I am wrong, please correct me politely. Most of my research was done online, and sometimes websites can be wrong, after all.

Chapter II

When we reached Boston, Father led the way to a tavern he frequently stayed in during his visits to the city for the General Court, because he regarded it as respectable enough, which essentially meant that there was not too much drinking or carousing there.

After we had settled into our room, which we shared with a merchant and his apprentice in Boston for business, we headed over to the General Court, where my father introduced me to the other gentlemen who served on the Court, all of whom made a point of teasing me about college or women. Therefore, I was more than a little relieved when the governor called the Court to order and all that was required of me was to attend to the proceedings.

When the day's work had concluded, my father questioned me about the business accomplished in the General Court that day on the way back to the tavern. He seemed pleased with my answers, and the following day passed in much the same manner, although I had to endure less genial taunts from Father's fellow legislators.

On the third day of the General Court's session, a courier burst unceremoniously into the room, announcing, "Magistrates Corwin and Hathorne, I have been sent from Salem with the somber task of informing you that the daughter and niece of Reverend Parris have become afflicted in the spirit so that they have dreadful visions and scream in agony. The Reverend and the doctor have pronounced that the evil hand is upon the pair of them."

"Mean you that there is a witch in Salem, then?" asked Magistrate Corwin, offering my own fear-filled inquiry.

The messenger nodded grimly. "Indeed, yes, Magistrate Corwin. A witch has come to Salem to visit horrors upon us. For this reason, sir, you and Magistrate Hathorne have been asked to return to Salem with all possible haste, for when the witch is uncovered, we will have need of your expertise."

At this revelation, my father and Magistrate Corwin exchanged significant glances that I had no prayer of reading. Then, my father turned to the messenger and ordered, "Please ride back to Salem and inform them that Magistrate Corwin and I will begin our journey home as soon as this day's business is concluded if the governor will be gracious enough to offer his assent."

"Granted." The governor nodded and waved a dismissive hand at the courier. "Go and do Magistrate Hathorne's bidding, man."

"Yes, sir. Immediately, sir." The messenger bowed and departed in a flurry.

As soon as the courier had disappeared, Father called, "Johnathan!"

"Yes?" I sat up a little straighter, preparing to do whatever task he requested of me.

"Kindly return to our room and pack up our belongings," he replied. "Do the same with Magistrate Coriwn's if he will allow it. We've no time to waste when it comes to the corrupting evil of witchcraft." He gazed questioningly at Magistrate Corwin. "You don't mind if my son packs up your things, do you, sir? It will permit us to leave with considerably more haste."

"Of course I have no objection, and I would appreciate it if your lad does so, as long as it is not too much trouble for him," Magistrate Corwin responded with admirable speed.

"It's no bother, none at all," Father reassured him before looking piercingly at me. "Is it, Johnathan?"

"No, sir." As I wasn't certain if I should address Magistrate Corwin or my father, I determined that an all-purpose "sir" would suffice.

"Then you have my permission to go." Father nodded, and I bowed before taking my leave.

That day, after the conclusion of the General Court, which was finished hours after I had packed everything, Father, Magistrate Corwin, and I rode out of Boston about an hour before sunset, or as much of a sunset as there can be during winter in Massachusetts.

For awhile, the three of us rode in silence. When I was confident that magistrate Corwin and my father were not about to strike up a conversation, probably having figured out their next step in the witchcraft business already, I asked, "Father, what are you and Magistrate Corwin going to do about this witchcraft business?"

As I posed this inquiry, I suppressed the overwhelming compulsion to shutter, since I was too much of a man now to display such signs of cowardice. Witchcraft was a horrible thing rendered all the more terrifying because it was real. Everyone knew that if he had the intelligence of a boulder. Some made a covenant with God; others entered into a similar contract with Satan, and those who did became witches.

"We'll set up a court and have Betty and Abigail name the one who torments them," my father educated me heavily. Obviously, he took no more delight in this witchcraft matter than I did.

"What shall you do when the tormenter is named, if I may ask?" I was afraid that I was pressing my luck. Father was not fond of incessant questions, although he had always been more tolerant of my inquiries than of my sisters' since curiosity was a more grievous flaw in a female than a male, and he didn't want his son to the be Salem Town's idiot, after all. My number of questions was undeniably limited, though.

"I'll do exactly as God bids me, as always, son," Father explained. "Magistrate Corwin and I will examine the Scriptures closely for any references to witches. Armed with the knowledge of how God desires us to proceed, we shall punish Salem's witch as He, in all his infinite wisdom, decrees. Together, we will be able to execute God's commandments."

Upon our return to Salem, I immersed myself in my books when I wasn't doing my chores, busying myself with my preparations for Harvard. I tried not to consider Susanna English, because she turned my insides into butter. The mere thought of her made me lose my concentration so much that I almost longed for my tutor to return to smack my hands with his ruler. The threat of smarting palms was undoubtedly a more effective disciplinarian than my own pathetic attempts at chiding myself.

I had decided not to visit Susanna, after all. I would probably melt faster than an ice crystal in Barbados if I did that. Besides, I did not feel like forcing my attentions on the girl, and I had no interest in experiencing any more rejection, anyway.

At any rate, I was not the only being in the Hathorne house who was constantly buried in some tome. My father, who normally split his days between his work as a merchant and a magistrate, was now spending most of his days reading carefully through the Holy Bible with Magistrate Corwin, who frequently joined Father in his research.

Magistrate Corwin, however, wasn't my father's only visitor, for on the third evening after our arrival in Salem, Father's older sister Elizabeth Porter joined us for supper with her husband, my uncle Israel.

"Brother, you have heard that Mary Walcott, Elizabeth Both, Susannah Sheldon, and Ann Putnam are afflicted as well, haven't you?" Aunt Elizabeth chattered away as was her habit. Not that it was my place to evaluate my superiors, but I had never had an issue with her talkative nature, although now I found myself wishing fervently that she would be quiet or switch to a more suitable mealtime topic. "No doubt you also are aware that Reverend Lawson has declared that the girls are bewitched, and Mary Walcott and the other afflicted girls are displaying their torments publically at Ingersoll's. Shameful and scandalous, if you ask me."

"Elizabeth, of course I am aware of all this," my father responded shortly. "I am also well aware of where you and your husband stand in regards to this witchcraft affair. Still, you should bow to my greater experience in dealing with legal matters."

"And what have you, with all your legal experience, decided to do, John?" pressed Aunt Elizabeth with more than a little mockery in her voice.

" I have only found a single reference to witchcraft in the Good Book: 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,'" Father stated. "Therefore, Magistrate Corwin and I have agreed that any convicted witch shall hang."

"How shall a witch be convicted?" Aunt Elizabeth's eyes were narrowed.

"Through standard evidence, spectral evidence, or any mischief that follows disagreements betwixt neighbors, Sister," Father returned.

At this, unease filtered across Aunt Elizabeth's face, and I wondered why she was so distraught. "Brother, there have been so many disputes in Salem between neighbors."

It took me a minute to work out her meaning. She was implying that people might try to avenge themselves on their neighbors by attempting to blame them for mysterious occurrences after a falling-out, leading to charges of witchcraft. Yet, surely, that would not happen. Salem was full of virtuous individuals, who would never contemplate manipulating the fear resulting from the grave problem of witchcraft like that. Doing so was as immoral as shouting "Fire" when there was none. People would certainly only accuse those who they truly knew to be witches, wouldn't they?

"Disputes have been known to provoke witches," Father countered.

Aunt Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply, but Mother cut her off with, "Elizabeth, dear, perhaps we could discuss something less controversial at the table."

"Very well then," Aunt Elizabeth agreed. Then, to my discomfiture, she looked at me and demanded, "Johnathan Hathorne, guess who I met while out shopping this day?"

"A majority of Salem Town," I answered. That was my typical reply to such vexing inquiries, even if Father insisted it was impudent.

"Yes, but I met a charming young lady of particular interest to you, nephew." Aunt Elizabeth's eyes twinkled at me like stars in the nighttime sky. "I believe she calls herself Susanna English, although if you had your way she would be Susanna Hathorne."

"Elizabeth, don't tease him so," Mother chided gently, and I thanked God for giving me such a compassionate mother, because I was sure you could have cooked a feast on my blazing cheeks. "Don't plant such notions in his head. He's yet to start his education at Harvard, and his father won't hear of him wedding until he has completed college at least."

Aunt Elizabeth elected to continue badgering me about Susanna anyhow, because she was as cruel as Honora. "I was talking to Susanna of you, Johnathan."

"Do you think it polite to admit that you were gossiping about me to my face, Aunt Elizabeth?" I felt like hiding under the table as I sued to do when I was humiliated like this.

"She says that you haven't called upon her recently," Aunt Elizabeth went on, utterly unfazed by my remark.

To embarrass me even further no doubt, Father intervened at this point. "What's this, Johnathan? You haven't called on Susanna yet? I thought you told me you would call on her upon our return from Boston."

Apparently, he had been too engrossed in his work to notice that I had done little except study since I had gotten home.

"I haven't had time to call upon her, Father," I said, praying to God to forgive my half-truth. "I've been studying."

"I see." Father paused, and then went on, "You're a good lad to study so much, but you may visit Susanna. It won't do you harm to work on a marriage prospect."

"That's certainly true, and Johnathan's a fine, clever young man, but there's no denying he requires a push when it comes to the fairer sex," Aunt Elizabeth agreed, and I fought the urge to hide my head in my hands.

"I have a suspicion that my wide is here to give you one, my boy." Uncle Israel raised his goblet of ale in a toast to me, and I returned the gesture, my lips twisting wryly.

"It's true that I'm here to do just that," Aunt Elizabeth confirmed, completely unabashed. Listening to her, I cringed, sensing that this gentle push was akin to shoving Daniel into the lions' den. "Why won't you call upon Susanna, nephew?"

"She doesn't have an interest in me, Aunt, and I'll not put both her and me through a humiliating ordeal if it's all the same to you." I sighed. How many times must I endure this? How often would I have to explain my inadequacy in the Susanna affair to others?

Lord, have mercy on me, I prayed, because none of Your people seem willing to offer me any.

"Well, if that's all there is to prevent you from calling on her, I expect you to visit her as soon as you can, young man," Aunt Elizabeth declared. By some miracle, I managed not to groan, even though I knew that she was not to be refused. She must have sensed my despair, for her manner softened. "Susanna herself admits that you are a handsome lad and quick of mind. She even blushed when I mentioned your name. Your case with her is far from foregone, which is why you must not play with her affections. You must call upon her if you are serious about her. If you are not, move onto someone else, but don't keep her waiting like this. It's cruel."

"I'll call upon her when I'm able to, ma'am," I promised, wondering how I would ever be able to face Susanna now. My life was getting more and more complicated with every passing day, it seemed.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Unfortunately, I had to face Susanna English sooner than I would have liked. Four mornings later, my father and I went over to the parsonage, where the afflicted girls could name their tormentor. When we reached the parsonage, Father left my side to join Magistrate Corwin and Reverend Parris for last minute discussions prior to letting in the crowed scattered around the parsonage to learn who was the witch in Salem.

While I was standing amidst the throng, I heard a strong male voice holler, "Here! Johnathan Hathorne!"

Pivoting, I spotted Phillip English, father of my beloved Susanna, calling me from beside his carriage, where Susanna stood next to him, her mere presence causing my stomach to churn as though I were seasick. As I walked through the snow toward them, I sternly instructed myself to be absolutely respectful, because if I ever did want to court Susanna instead of just daydream about her, it would be advisable not to have her father hostile to me.

"Sir?" I was careful to remove my hat as I neared them, trying to avoid Susanna's brilliant eyes. If I looked into them, I knew I would misplace myself in them and then I wouldn't be able to attend to her father's words. I must have managed to lose myself in them, anyway, for the next instant I was agreeing to escort Susanna inside and return her to her father afterwards. Then, he was leaving us, and I was left alone with Susannna.

Swallowing hard, I placed my hand under her elbow, hoping that I wasn't squeezing her too tightly. As I guided her through the hordes of beings now trailing into the parsonage, I found myself staring down at her, and I could only hope that I didn't shatter the rules of chastity that governed our community to pieces. I didn't want to scare her away, after all, nor did I want my father to scold me when he heard about such an incident from Salem's resident gossips.

My mouth, apparently, was no longer under my conrtol, for it was spilling everrything out to Susanna, who perhaps wanted a quiet escort, not one who chattered on like spring chipmunk.

"I've been meaning to call, Susanna, all winter," I insisted ardently. Then, I went on to explain how I had been busy with my father in Boston, and how it was hard to leave my house when Mother needed a man around while Father and Magistrate Corwin examined their Bibles for any reference to witchcraft. Even as the words poured out of my mouth, I despised them. I had not been raised to offer excuses, and she would not be interested in what I had to say, anyway.

However, I was mistaken in this final conclusion, for Susanna inquired, "Have they found it?"

I informed her that all they had determined was that an accused witch had no right to counsel and that the Bible said, "Thou shalt not allow a witch to live," which happened to be the only passage on the subject.

The instant I established as much, I regretted it, for I could feel her start to shiver. Her shiver, I recognized, had nothing to do with the chilly winter air and everything to do with my comment. I should not have said such words to her. It should have been plain to me that they would upset her. For shame, I was a fool.

"Don't be frightened, Susanna." I tried to soothe her, although I was afraid that it would do no good. I looked seriously down at her and continued firmly and honestly, "None of this will touch you. My father and the other learned men will keep it from spreading."

At that moment, I believed this. At that moment, I had faith in my father and the other men in authority. At that moment, nothing could have prepared me for the shock of her response: "I wish I could be sure of that, Johnathan."

Her statement cuased a tremor to travel up and down my back, and, for a minute, I could do naught but gawk at her as if I had never laid eyes on her lovely frame before.

When I regained my wits, I had the unpleasant realization that everyone else was inside the parsonage and the front door was closed. I groaned inwardly. We could hardly burst in now, which meant that we were doomed to stand out here in the cold air. No doubt Susanna's father would love me for this, and my parents would be be very understanding when Phillip English complained to them.

"We'll never get in now," I sighed without even realizing I was doing so.

"Yes, we will," Susanna countered, smiling. "Come. I'll get us in the back way."

In the end, Reverend Parris' slave man—John Indian, I think Susanna addressed him as—let us in the back door upon Susanna's request. Puzzled by her familiarity with him, I whispered as we entered the kitchen as quietly as kittens in a hayloft, "How come you to know this man?"

"I—I come here often on missions of mercy for Mama now that Betty has taken sick," Susanna replied as we removed our cloaks, hung them by the fireplace to warm them, and crossed over to the doorway, where we could see the company room in which seemingly everyone in Salem had congregated.

When I heard Susanna's explanation, I was flooded with tenderness for her. She was good and charitable. All in all, she was far too benevolent a person for me to hope to attain, and, yet, I continued to hope, halfwit that I was.

Looking out into the parsonage's company room, I saw, seated at a long table by a blazing fire in the hearth, Reverend Nicholas Noyes of Salem Town, Reverend Parris of Salem Village, Reverend John Hale of nearby Beverly, Magistrate Corwin, and, of course, my own father. For a moment, I reeled with shock at the sight. Father hadn't infromed me that so many distinguished gentlemen would be here this day. Well, that just proved how grave a matter this witchcraft business was and that my father had more important things to do than fill me on on every detail of the proceedings.

Just as I was recovering from my surprise, a court adjunct announced the girls. As the girls came in a line, a murmur, soft at first, but quickly gaining volume, swept through the chamber. Young Ann Putnam, Mercy Lewis, Mary Warren, Gertrude Pope, Susannah Sheldon, Mary Walcott, and Elizabeth Booth were rapidly joined by Abigail and Betty Parris, who had been sitting, but now rose, before the elders.

Taking in the scene, I thought that if we had not been dealing with witchcraft, which was a terrible crime against the Almighty, the whole affair might have been quite pleasant, for the lively fire cackled merrily in the hearth, while gusts of wind rattled the casement windows, creating a steady background noise. Meanwhile, the wintry sun reflected off the well-polished furniture and and pewter candlesticks, and danced off the white plaster walls.

However, Reverend Parris shattered the tranquil illusion when he commanded the girls, "Tell us who has afflicted you thus."

For a long moment, in which I held my breath, the girls remained as silent as stones. Getting tired of waiting for a respsone, Reverend Parris repeated himself, now directing his words to Ann Putnam alone, a fact I would later make sense of, but could not comprehend at the moment.

"I am not afflicted, Reverend," she answered, her soft, eerie voice making me tremble. "I am well."

In case anyone was lunatic enough to trust her in this assesment, which, undoubtedly, was a fancy created by witchcraft, she made it obvious that the evil hand was indeed upon her when she let out a bloodcurdling scream. Her piercing wail was one a person would not expect to hear from a proper Puritan girl, but rather from an atacking Indian savage. While she shierked in this heart-stopping fashion, she threw herself onto the floor, her body writhing about like a serpent's.

Soon, her cries were joined by many of the spectators'. I did not join them, for my throat was constricted with horror.

"Silence!" snapped Reverend Parris into the din that had resulted from Ann Putnam's display. As everybody hushed themselves, he knelt over Ann to pacify her. After a few seconds, her thrashing subsided. The Reverend prayed over her before asking again, "Child, who does this to you?"

Again, there was no reply, as Ann had gone into a trance. Lifting her limp body, Reverend Parris whirled around to face the other girls. "Tell us," he boomed, "who is responsible for this evil?"

Despite the fact that all the rules of respect demanded that they answer him, the girls just stared at him, a violation in itself of proper behavior. Their blank, galssy eyes suggested that they were indeed in the posession of the Devil.

Reverend Parris placed Ann Putnam in her mother's lap before addressing the other afflicted ones once more, "Someone amongst us is in league with the Devil. If only we knew who it was. You girls must help us. We will protect you, have no fear. We will guard you night and day if necessary. Tell and you will save our village from doom. For one person may, with the help of the Devil, destroy a whole town."

He was right. God help us, he was right. I prayed fervently that the girls would be able to fight the workings of the witch long enough to name her, so she could be hung. Mayhap it wasn't folly for me to hope for this, for, although the rest of the tortured girls stood as straight and as unseeing as pokers, Ann Putnam had stirred.

Seeing that Ann had emerged from her trance, Reverend Parris demanded, "Who has come to you through this veil of darkness? Speak, child."

Slipping from her mother's lap, Ann admitted, "I cannot be certain, but there were times I thought I saw a shape."

A murmur of heightened interest arose from the spectators at this, and I felt my own breath snag in my throat in a sort of dreadful anticipation. Once again, Reverend Parris gestured for silence, which fell instantly, and inquired eagerly, "Can you name the person whose shape it was?"

"I do not wish to injure an innocent person's reputation." As Ann established as much, I felt Susanna stiffen and then fall back beside me. Obviously, the proccedings horrified her, and I wondered if I ought to remove her before she fainted.

However, before I could reach a conclusion on that matter, Reverend Parris decarled, "We will pray now, we will pray that God gives these poor, suffering girls the strength to know their tormentors."

I knelt on the cold wooden floor along with everyone else, responding mindlessly to an engrained command. Along with everyone except Susanna, that is. Apparently, Susanna was so appalled by the nightmare she had just witnessed that her body had not been capable of absorbing this command. Still, she had to get down on her knees where she belonged before people started to notice. It would not do for her to seem undevout, after all.

I snatched her wrist and tugged her down onto the floor beside me. I tried not to be too forceful in this endeavor, because that might lead her to believe that I was an abuser of woman, but I also had to be careful not to be too gentle, for if I was she would not end up moving at all. To my relief, she dropped absently to the ground when I pulled on her hand, and she did not even glance in my direction, which suggested that I had done her no harm.

"O great Lord God," Reverend Parris' voice thundered, and I had no doubt that Our Heavenly Father heard every word, thanks in part to the Reverend's volume, "look down on this congregation of sinners. See not our sins but our eternal faith in your mercy! Smite the unrepentant amongst us with your just anger, but do not visit that anger on these innocents. Send forth lightening with rain, but do not turn away from Thy annointed. Behold our plight. Be mindful of our convenant with Thee. Do not let the scepter of the ungodly abide with the righteous. Do well, O God, unto those amongst us who are true of heart. Move these young ones to name the evil one who persecutes them. Amen."

Along with the entirety of the congregation, I echoed obediently, "Amen."

As soon as our prayer had ended, Ann Putnam shrieked as she hurled herself at Reverend Parris. "They ride on sticks," she shouted, and I shuttered at the notion. "They ride on sticks!"

Instantly, Joseph Putnam lurched forward, and, after giving his niece a firm shake that would not have been out of place in the midst of a lecture, held her still.

"Who?" Reverend Parris knelt before her as her uncle restricted her movements. "Who rides on sticks? Tell us."

From a corner by the fireplace, little Betty Parris climbed out of her chair and walked toward her father in a daze. "Tituba," she stated in a frail voice. "It is Tituba who torments us."

Tituba? I thought, bewildered, as the rest of the affllicted girls began chanting Tituba's name in a steady rhythm. The Reverend's own slave? Could such evil really exist in a parsonage? Could not God keep that evil out of His own house on Earth?

That is blasphemy, I chastised myself barely a second later. You should be afraid to harbor such thooughts, Johnathan Hathorne, for they are not of the Elect. The Elect know that God's ways are unknowable and that humans have no business judging them, and if you are not of the Elect, then you are of the damned.

Mercy Lewis spoke as I chided myself for my lack of faith in Our Lord. "It is not only Tituba. Others are with her. I can see them."

"Who? Name the others." Reverend Parris dragged Mercy toward him as I stuggled to absorb this terrifying revelation. How could there possibly be more than one witch amongst the good people of Salem? "Name them now, and save this town from ruin."

"Sarah Good!" Mercy shouted, and I felt the blood drain out of my face. "Sarah Osbourne! Tituba!"

As the girls chorused these three names over and over again, I turned to face Susanna and observed that her ashen face was a mirror image of my own. My mind reeling, I attempted to make sense of everything that had transpired. Tituba was a witch, because everybody was aware that darkies were especially vulnerable to the advances of the Devil and were known to practicce the dark arts of prophecy. Similarly, Sarah Good was a landless begger with a no account husband, and poverty was a sign of idleness and God's disfavor, just as wealth and industriousness was a sign of being a member of the Elect. As for Sarah Osbourne, she never attended meeting as one who had chosen to follow God would, and she had violated the rules of decency by taking her husband, William, into her house before marriage. Of course such women were witches. How could they be so unvirtuous and not be servants of the Devil?

As such thoughts whirled around in my head, I heard Susanna plead, "Johnathan, take me out of here."

Gentlly, I escroted her over to the kitchen fireplace, where she grabbed her cloak and wrapped it about herself while I dressed myself for the frigid weather outside. Once we were prepared for the outdoors, I led her out of the parsonage and started to guide her back to her father's carriage.

While I escorted her to her father's carriage, I remarked, feeling her arm shake, "You're trembling."

"There was evil in that room, Johnathan. I could feel it." She looked at me with wide, earnest eyes like those of an alarmed doe.

"The elders will root it out," I promised her, aware that Father and Magistrate Corwin would now be penning warrents for the arrest of the witches. Thinking this would soothe her, I informed her of this. However, my words only served to agitate her further.

"Arrest?" she asked anxiously, gaping at me as if I had just taken leave of my wits. "Arrest Tituba? Why, she is only a poor slave woman who took good care of her charges."

"She was practicing the black arts," I answered patiently, shaking my head. The poor creature was too addled by distress to face the truth.

Susannah then made me explain why it was clear that Sarah Osbourne and Sarah Good were guilty of witchcraft. When I got through detailing how Sarah Osbourne had violated the rules of decency, Susanna flared up at me like dry parchment when a candle was put to it.

"Have you been so influenced by your father?" she snapped, as though Father were a thief, rather than a well-to-do merchant and magistrate, who was a respected member of the community, and as though I, therefore, were guilty of a heinous cime in emulating him. "Sarah and William Osbourne are now married! She doesn't go to meeting because she is bedridden!"

If it had been Honora or any of my sisters who had spoken thus to me, I would have retorted, but Susanna was distraught, and I couldn't do that.

Instead of snapping back, I took her hands in my own, feeling a warmth sweep over me from head to toe as I did so. For a heartbeat, we stood there in the snow, staring at each other. Then, I remarked delicately, "Susanna, don't let this upset you. Let the matter be dealt with by learned men. You yourself said you felt evil in that room."

"The evil I felt, Johnathan, was crying out on innocent people," she countered, reminding me of Honora with her sharp tongue.

"They will be given a chance to prove their innocence," I educated her confidentally, thinking that Magistrate Corwin and Father treated everyone with justice. Not that any rational person could see the afflicted girls as anything excpet the victims of witches.

"You've said the magistrastes will not give them rights to counsel." Truth be told, I had forgotten this. As this occurred to me, I frowned. She did not seem to notice this, however, as she went on, "Johnathan, do you believe in witchcraft?"

Wishing that she would regain her senses sometime soon, I answered solemnly that I believed in witches who entered into a contract with the Devil rather than God, and who were sent out to perfrom the Devil's bidding.

Looking appalled at my response, Susanna whispered, her face as pale as a cresecent moon, "And you believe that we now have witches amongst us in Salem?"

"Yes, Susanna." I adopted the slow tone one would emloy when adressing a toddler who wanted to touch a burning candle. "Why else would everyone be here today in this gathering?"

Something about my tone finally seemed to get through to her befuddled mind, for she burst into tears. This meant that I was faced with the challenge of comforting her without being too forward.

I managed to wheedle her into her father's carriage and tucked her in a bed rug, chattering about any matter I could think of that did not relate to the scene in the parsonage. Unfortuantely, Susanna would not permit herself to be distracted or consoled, and conttinued to sob uncontrollably.

Before long, people were leaving the parsonage. Giving up on calming Susanna, I hollered to John Dorich, the apprentice of the whorf proprietor, "What has happened?"

"Haven't you heard?" he asked in his typical sneering, withering manner. "Hello, Susanna."

To my surprise and envy, Susanna removed her hands from about her face as John Dorich resumed, "The magistrates are in there issuring warrents for the arrests of the three named witches." It was as I had imagined then, I thought with a twinge of vindication. Smiling at Susanna in a way that roused my jealousy as it shouldn't have been raised, John added, "I told you, didn't I, Susanna? Those girls have the power now."

"What does he mean by that?" Nonplussed, I frowned at John's retreating back, even as I asked this of the young lady next to me.

"Nothing," she snarled. "He's just as addle-brained by all this as the rest of you."

"I do not consider myself addle-brained, Susanna." I prayed that I sounded composed and dignified, not like a child engaged in a silly squabble.

"You believe in witches," she said simply, as though this were proof of being addle-brianed, instead of evidence on the contrary. "And I don't. This is all hysteria, and men of goodwill should stop it."

"They are trying," I insisted, meaning every word. "I'm sorry you are so upset, Susanna. I'm sorry I can't please you and say I don't believe in witches."

"Believe as you wish!" she barked.

I didn't care how distubed by the events in the parsonage she had been. This was getting ludicrious. I had been as polite as I could, and she had been nothing but rude to me. I had done my duty in seeing her out to her father's carriages and trying to ease her pain. There was nothing more I could do. All I was doing was making everything worse with her.

Sighing, I climbed out of the carriage. Before I left her, I asked if I could come to call, and my heart pounded at least three times its normal rate as I awaited her reply.

However, all she said was that she didn't much care. Hoping to get more out of her, I suggested that I might be too busy with Father to visit her, but all she said then was, "I'm sure you will be."

Feeling defeated, I bid her good day and told her to keep well before heading back inside the parsonage, where Father and Magistrate Corwin were occupied with writing the warrents for the arrest of Sarah Good, Sarah Osbourne, and Tituba at the long table where they had questioned the afflicted girls.

As I entered, shtting the door carefully behind me, Father glanced up. "Hello, Johnathan. What thought you of the proceedings?"

"It was terrifying, Father," I answered, approaching him. "Poor Susanna English was most distraught by it, and she refused to be consoled."

"Mr. English took his daughters here?" Father sounded surprised.

"He didn't take Mary, sir, just Susanna."

"Well, that's something, I suppose." Father shook his head. "I don't know why he bothered to bring her if he informed me that he doesn't believe in witches, though."

"Mr. English doesn't believe in witches?" I repeated, mouth agape. Did Susanna's crazy ideas about witchcraft stem from her father, then?

"Yes, that's what I said, Johnathan." Father sounded impatient. "You could try listening to me properly for once."

Sometimes, my father seemed to feel the overwhelming need to treat me like a five-year-old, and this, clearly, was one of those times.

"Yes, sir." I accepted the reprimand, and then plowed on, "It's only that what you said explains why Susanna claimed that she doesn't believe in witches. I thought she was just addled from the proceedings, but—"

"She and her father will come to their senses soon," Father interrupted. "They'll see that witches have come to Salem." He handed the warrents to a court adjunct and rose. "Come along, son. Your mother will be expecting us. Soon enough we will deal with these witches."


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Sorry about the delay in posting. This chapter was a particularly difficult one to write, and I was busy with extracurricular activities, but hopefully you enjoy this installment. Also, as the Puritans wouldn't say, Merry Christmas to all Christians, Happy Hanukah to all Jewish people, and Happy New Year everybody!

Confessions and Confusions

February passed in a blur of silvery whiteness as I largely abandoned my studies and joined much of Salem's populace in the Salem Village Meetinghouse to watch the proceedings in the witchcraft affair. For three days, Tituba's confession went on in the building that should have felt pleasantly warm with the raging fire and the crowd assembled there, but didn't because the screams of the girls and Tituba's bald admittance of guilt were more chilling than a draft of frigid air, and the roaring fire only served to remind me of the flames of hell that seemed to be devouring Salem.

My ears rang hours after Tituba informed the breathless, horrified magistrates and spectators in lurid detail of how red and black cats had come to her and bade her serve them. Then, equally descriptive, she shouted about how a large black dog had ordered her to hurt the afflicted girls.

Her voice swelling over the gasps of the assembly, she continued to explain her sinful behavior with enough haunting details to fuel my nightmares for years to come. As my fingers and toes went numb, she recounted how she had ridden on a broom on the darkest of nights along with Sarah Good and Sarah Osbourne. Ignoring how the masses and magistrates alike stirred at the implication that Sarah Good and Sarah Osbourne were guilty as well, she spoke of awful winged animals with the heads of women and a little yellow bird that accompanied her on her malevolent missions.

Then, she described in a manner that made me tremble like a hapless leaf caught up in a rainstorm a tall, white-haired man who dressed in black and led a coven of witches in and about the colony of Massachusetts, especially here in Essex County. After that, she went on to explain with an appalling simplicity how she had signed her name in the Devil's book, an action in itself that promised damnation, in order to please this wicked man. Worse still, she said as hysteria rose in me at the very notion that there were more witches than just herself, Sarah Good, and Sarah Osbourne, but, when the magistrates pressed her for their names, she insisted that she could not provide them, since she didn't know the identities of the other witches.

Then, she admitted that she sent spectral shapes into people's homes to torment them, and my jaw dropped when, at the same time, the poor afflicted girls moaned and threw themselves onto the floor, where they thrashed about like fish out of water frantically trying to return to the ocean.

The next few days, when Sarah Good and Sarah Osbourne were brought before my father and Magistrate Corwin for questioning, they claimed innocence, but after listening to Tituba's testimony and after seeing how the girls wailed and screamed as they tossed themselves about on the floor while Sarah Good and Sarah Osbourne spoke, I didn't believe them. I believed that they were lying, and that they were doubly damned, because they wouldn't confess to their dreadful crimes against God.

By early March, Father and Magistrate Corwin had finished interrogating Tituba, Sarah Good, and Sarah Osbourne, and, on March 7th, they sent the three women to jail in Boston to await trial. When the three of them were taken to Boston, I prayed that, even though Tituba had stated that there were unknown witches still roaming about Salem, the witchcraft affair would be essentially over in Salem.

However, it transpired that was a waste of a prayer, for at supper on March 19th Father announced that Abigail Williams had accused Rebecca Nurse of being a witch and Ann Putnam had accused Martha Corey of being one.

"Rebecca Nurse?" Mother echoed, shocked, her fork clanking on her platter after it slipped from her limp fingers. "She is the last person one would think would be named."

"Evil can be deceptive," answered Father grimly. "I'm sure that even God in His infinite wisdom thought Lucifer was one of the purest of all the angels up until the hour before he fell."

"But, sir, Rebecca Nurse is staunch of spirit, kind of heart, learned in the Scripture, she keeps a spotless house, and she is the mother of eight children," I protested numbly. I didn't care that much about Martha Corey, because she was a sharp-tongued gossip, but it mattered to me a great deal what happened to a woman who shone with an inner light as Rebecca Nurse did. "Nothing about her actions suggest that she is one of the damned."

"It's not actions that determine whether someone is of the elect or not, and you know that, Johnathan," Father reminded me. "Who is to be damned and who is to be saved was determined when the world was created."

"I know that, but actions provide an indication of whether or not someone is of the elect, Father," I pointed out.

"Actions can also lie, son," Father countered, his voice tight, since he never appreciated any of his children disputing with him.

"Even you can't see into someone's heart and mind, Father." I shook my head as I ate my stew. "As such, actions must be the only way to judge a person."

"Rebecca Nurse has been accused of being a witch along with the others, and she will be arrested," Father declared, glowering at me. "Magistrate Corwin and I will examine her. If we determine that there is sufficient evidence to bring her to trial, then she will be taken to the Boston jail to await trial along with the others."

"There won't be sufficient evidence." Again, I shook my head vehemently. "Such a good woman can't be a witch, Father."

"It's best not to be too naïve in matters of witchcraft, son," Father warned. "You might be surprised at what ugly secrets are revealed about people when they are questioned by us magistrates."

"I want to attend her questioning, sir," I announced, my eyes narrowing.

"You have attended all of the examinations thus far, Johnathan, and I am not about to prevent you from attending Rebecca Nurse's questioning. However, be warned that I will not tolerate a display like this one at her interrogation." Father's voice and eyes had hardened into their most severe magistrate ones. "If I were you, I wouldn't worry so much about Rebecca Nurse, though, and I would concern myself with the state of my own soul. Your words suggest to me that you should be praying fervently that you are one of the people God selected to show His endless mercy by saving rather than one of those He chose to show His noble justice by damning."

I shuddered, as my eyes flicked over to the candles burning in the center of the table, and I had the terrifying sensation for a moment of the flames licking away at my limbs in Hell. With an effort, I regained control over myself. Father was exaggerating the danger to scare me into good behavior, as he had done ever since I was old enough to remember. His comment now was no different than when he took the other children and me to see hangings, whippings, and people locked in the stocks and pillories. I wasn't going to roast in Hell any more than I was going to be hung. I had to remain calm, since I would be a weak ally to Rebecca Nurse if I didn't.


End file.
